Watching
by OneCharlieGirl
Summary: You never know when you are being watched.
1. Chapter 1

**I want to thank redheadknits for being such an awesome beta. Not only did you fix what needed fixing, you saved my butt when I accidentally lost the story! Also, thanks to MaleficentKnits for your continued support. **

**Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. **

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I watch him.

He sits with one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the other holding open the book on the table before him. His hazel-green eyes never leaving the book, he moves the hand from his neck to turn the page. He brushes his wavy brown hair from where it has fallen, covering his face from my view. I copy the movement, tucking my own brown hair behind one ear. I wish it was his hand in my hair, and mine in his. Wish for us to be in a more private place. But I know that he won't leave before he absolutely has to. He never does.

The library isn't very crowded. It never is in the evenings. The college crowd has finished their studies for the day, and are out looking for more exciting ways to spend their time. Mothers, who bring their children during the day, are at home; preparing dinner, bathing the kids, putting them to bed. The librarian and her assistants are busy; putting books back on shelves, gathering discarded coffee cups and pieces of paper, organizing pens and paperclips at the checkout desk. I pay very little attention to these activities. I watch him.

I've spent countless hours doing my research. There are quite a few dark, secluded corners in various rooms of the building. I know them all. I know the location of every nook and cranny where a couple could go to be inconspicuous. There are entire sections of book shelves where nobody ever goes. Maybe not enough privacy for everything I want to do with him. To him. But, if I could take him there and show him, he'd know. Not everything, not right away, but enough so that he'd know. Did I want him to know? Until I know for sure that it is the right time, I will be content with my daily routine.

I watch him. He digs in his backpack, rooting through the disorganized contents. A slight frown furrows his brow, and I want to rub my hand across it, eliminating the lines that mar the perfection. He takes out a container of mints, opens it, and slips one into his mouth as he continues to burrow in the pack, still searching. I know the brand and flavor of the mints. He doesn't like strong peppermint, preferring the more subtle wintergreen. I had rummaged through his belongings once, when he left the table unattended. I want to taste the mints, second-hand.

Finally finding what he is looking for, he pulls the iPod out of the bag and sticks the ear-buds in place. He listens for a moment and then shakes his head, causing his hair to once again partially obscure his face from me. His lush lips purse a moment, causing a shock to run through my body. The things I want him to do with those lips should be illegal. He must have found the song he wanted, because he sets the iPod on the table and goes back to his book. I can see his lips moving slightly as he quietly sings along with the music. I wish, not for the first time, that I can read lips. I want to sing with him, even if only in my mind.

Suddenly, he raises his gaze from the open book, looking around the room in confusion. Does he feel me watching? Does he know I am here? Shaking his head, he puts a marker in the book to save his place, then puts the book and iPod into his backpack. He slowly stands, stretching; then grabs the battered cowboy hat and places it on his head. Looking around the room one more time, he slings the straps of the pack over his shoulder and slowly saunters from the room. I watch him.

He walks down the sidewalk, his long, lanky form casting a shadow as he passes beneath the street lights. He is unaware of how many female heads turn as he passes by. He doesn't know that the combination of a muscle-hugging pullover shirt, skin-tight jeans, boots and a cowboy hat is magnetic. Women can't help but stare. And dream. Even younger girls find themselves drawn to him; feelings they don't understand pulsing through their bodies, and they don't know why. He reaches the coffee shop on the corner, slows, and walks in. I stand at the window.

I watch him.

He watches her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Apparently there is a trick to adding a chapter that I haven't figured out -- apologies for the fake update alert! I'm hoping I got it right this time. **

**Special thanks to megi and MaleficentKnits for previewing and advising ... and to the awesome redheadknits for beta'ing and the all-important sentence she suggested. **

**Stephenie Meyers owns all things Twilight.**

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He watched her.

She danced across the room, like a butterfly flitting around a garden. She was never still, not for a moment. It didn't matter what she was doing: whether taking a customer's order or delivering food to a table, she was in constant motion. Her every movement was as graceful as a ballet, and he loved to watch her move. Even if it was just the fluttering of her hands as she emphasized a point, her body kept him mesmerized. She was so tiny, so delicate, it seemed that the slightest wind would carry her away.

He came to the coffee shop almost every evening, usually ordering a slice of pie and coffee. He didn't like coffee -- couldn't stand it, to be honest. And the caffeine kept him awake and left him feeling edgy for hours. But he ordered it, and drank it, every time. It was the one way to guarantee that she'd come to his table often. It wasn't enough for him to just watch her from afar; he needed to see her deep brown eyes sparkle as she laughed. And he made sure that he had something amusing to say, each time she passed his table; asking if he needed anything else, or "topping off" his cup. He always tried to think of something that would start a conversation, so she would spend more time with him. It was an uncomfortable feeling for him, trying to be clever.

He never had any problems attracting girls. They always seemed to be fascinated by his Southern drawl, and would gaze into his hazel-green eyes like love-sick puppies. He wasn't interested in any of them, though. They didn't have her energy, her love for life. He wished they would leave him alone. He wished that she would notice him as something more than just a customer. He wanted to run his fingers through her short black hair, to see if it was as soft as he imagined it to be. He wanted to hold her, protect her, keep her safe. He wanted to concentrate on the one thing that made him happy: watching her.

He hoped she didn't think he was stalking her. He knew where she lived, of course. He discreetly followed her home when she worked late; he told himself it was just to make sure she was safe. If he was being honest with himself, he would admit that her safety was only part of the reason; he really just wanted to spend more time near her. He was cautious, though, and made sure he went to the restaurant on nights that he knew she wasn't working. He always tried to sit at his regular table, in her usual section, just so the other employees would be accustomed to seeing him. He would listen to music on his iPod, or study one of the books he brought with him. On occasion, he would set up his laptop and pretend to be working. He thought that would keep others from realizing that he was watching her.

She was approaching again, laughing at something the man at another table had said. Her laugh made his heart stutter and goosebumps raise along his arms. He needed to be the one to make her laugh, the one to make her eyes sparkle. He knew, in his heart, that they were meant to be together. All he had to do was make the first move. As she swayed gracefully from table to table, nearing the corner where he sat, he planned it out. Exactly what to say, how to ask, so that she would accept his offer of dinner. She was at the table next to his, pouring coffee into cups and listing the specials.

He watched her.

While he was wrapped up in the anticipation of the moment, he didn't once notice that from the window, someone else watched him.


	3. Chapter 3

**I apologize for taking so long to update - but, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be! I'd like to thank MaleficentKnits for pimping my writing, and redheadknits for her awesome beta'ing. I couldn't do it without you ladies! (and you know how surprised I am that I'm doing it at all!)**

**Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. **

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She walked among the tables gracefully, almost as though she were dancing. She moved from table to table, filling coffee cups, clearing dishes, or talking with the customers. Even in the dim light of the overhead fluorescent bulbs, her skin seemed to glow and her short, spiky black hair shimmered. His eyes followed her every move, but she wasn't aware of them. She was, however, aware of him.

He came in most evenings, and always sat at the same table. His shaggy brown hair would fall into his face, covering his amazing eyes - which was a shame. The first time she saw him, he was at a different table, in someone else's station. She noticed him in passing; he was an attractive man. When the other waitress left for her dinner break, she made a point of going to his table to see if there was anything he needed. He was reading - Civil War Battles and Leaders - and didn't seem to notice her at first. She cleared her throat and asked if he needed anything more, and he looked away from the book in his hands. The moment she saw his hazel-green eyes, she was mesmerized. He didn't seem to notice that she just stood there, staring. She only came back to attention when he smiled, his lips curving enticingly. And then, her brain registered his voice as he told her he was fine. His voice was as sweet as honey, with a subtle drawl underlining his words. That was the moment she knew that they'd somehow, some day, be together. The hard part would be getting him to realize it.

After that first night, he always sat, alone, at the same corner table, in her section. She wondered if the choice of table was deliberate, chosen so he would be closer to her. She made an extra effort to keep his coffee cup filled; and although his cup was usually in need of refilling whenever she came by with the pot, he never seemed to be drinking it any time she glanced his way. It was almost as if he'd see her approaching, and quickly gulp it down. She tried to pass the table as often as she could without making her interest obvious. He didn't seem to notice her in particular. Sometimes it seemed as though he barely glanced away from his book or laptop as he thanked her for the coffee. She would hesitate, hoping that he'd look up and smile, maybe start a conversation. When he did talk to her, it would only be to ask for a piece of pie or to make a joking comment. He always ordered pecan pie, even though he knew they didn't carry it. He'd settle for apple, or cherry, but he always seemed disappointed. She looked up recipes online and practiced baking, so she could surprise him with a home-baked pecan pie.

She wanted to know how it would feel to run her fingers through his hair; to feel his lips against hers as he wrapped his arms around her. Would he bend his body to meet her lips, or pull her up on her tippy-toes? Would his first kiss be gentle, tentative? Or would he be passionate, demanding a response from her?

Tonight felt different, somehow. He appeared to be paying more attention to her ... watching her as she was waiting on the customers at the adjoining table. As she finished taking their order, she felt as though his eyes were drawing her to him. Instead of heading towards the kitchen to put in the order she'd just written down, her body moved in the opposite direction. Walking slowly, she took the few steps towards his table. As she drew closer, she would swear that she saw a flicker of interest in his eyes. He looked serious, somehow, as though he were trying to build up his courage. He wouldn't quite make eye contact, though, so maybe she was mistaken. She asked if he needed anything else; he shook his head, but didn't speak. Her fingers itched to reach out and brush his hair from his face. Finally, she decided that she'd have to make the first move. Waiting until he'd shoved the book into the backpack, she gathered her courage. Reaching out and touching the back of his hand, she asked him if he'd walk her home. He hesitated, just for a moment ... and smiled.

And neither one noticed that, through the window, the girl on the sidewalk was watching.

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**I hope I can come up with at least one more chapter, to give closure to the girl on the sidewalk...**

**Thank you so much for reading!  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Once again, I'd like to thank MaleficentKnits and megi for reading, encouraging and making suggestions, and to redheadknits for being my awesome beta. Thanks for "watching" over me! **

**I'd also like to apologize to Mal, for mis-typing her name, and to everyone who may receive a second alert.  
**

**Stephenie Meyers owns all things Twilight.**

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I wasn't watching.

I should have been paying attention to where I was going, but I was fumbling one-handed through my backpack. I knew my cell phone was in there, somewhere. I'd just put it in the pack about 20 minutes earlier. Of course, I should have hooked it on the belt clip, as I normally do, but I was in a hurry. It was easier to shove everything into the backpack and sort it all out later. As a result, not only was I going to be late, I couldn't even call and give Alice warning. I only hoped that she wasn't too upset. My sister could be brutal when she was upset.

The next thing I knew, I bumped into a girl who'd been standing on the sidewalk with her back to me. I tried to grab her and keep her from falling, but I had been walking more quickly than I realized and we both fell to the ground. I immediately jumped to my feet, and reached down to help the girl to hers, feeling a flush of embarrassment on my face. She pushed my hand away as she got to her knees, and then stood upright. As she lifted her face and our eyes met, I felt what could only be described as a jolt of electricity. I shook my head, wondering where that thought came from. It sounded like something from one of the romance novels that Alice left lying around the house. Bringing my attention quickly back to the girl, I asked her if she was okay and apologized for my clumsiness. She didn't answer right away, and I worried that she had hit her head when I knocked her to the ground. Suddenly, she blinked and then assured me that she was fine.

Taking the girl by the hand as I started walking slowly towards the door of the cafe, I told her my name - Edward. I told her that the least I could do, after knocking her down, was buy her a cup of coffee. She hesitated by the door as she looked down the street, and I wondered if she was waiting for someone. Before I could ask her, she shrugged her shoulders and led me towards an empty table in my sister's section. As we sat and talked, I found myself staring into her brown eyes like some love-sick school boy. I didn't understand it; I'd never been so instantly attracted to anyone before. I wanted to run my fingers through her long brown hair, and kiss her until she couldn't think. I wanted to know everything there was to know about her: her past, her present, and her future. I wanted her future to be with me. It was at this point that I realized I didn't even know her name. When I mentioned this, she laughed and said, "Bella". Under my breath, I murmured, "Beautiful".

We must have sat at that table for hours, drinking cup after cup of coffee and talking about anything that came to mind. When the waitress reminded us for the second time that the restaurant was closing, it suddenly dawned on me. I was supposed to have been meeting Alice there at the end of her shift; and yet, I'd not seen my sister. Bella must have noticed the look of shock on my face, because she asked if anything was wrong. When I told her, she asked if Alice was the tiny girl with wild black hair - and then told me that she'd left with someone named Jasper just before we'd 'met'. Before I could become concerned, Bella told me that she knew Jasper and that he was a great guy - my sister would be safe with him, and actually seemed to know him quite well. It never dawned on me that I was accepting the word of a stranger that my sister would be safe. Yet, I believed Bella; I trusted her judgment. It confused me, this feeling of certainty; it went against my basic nature to trust so completely. But there was just something about this woman that made me believe my sister was in good hands.

BPOV

I was looking down the street, staring at the spot where he'd rounded the corner with her. I couldn't believe it - he walked right past me, without even glancing in my direction. What did the waitress have, that I didn't? And why hadn't I ever noticed him watching her? Before I could turn around, something hit me from behind and knocked me to the ground. I saw hands reaching to help me up, but I brushed them away and stood -- only to be mesmerized by the most glorious face I'd ever seen. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the restaurant with a cup of coffee in front of me.

We stayed at the table, talking, until the waitress informed us that they wanted to close, and we'd need to leave. I didn't want the night to end, there was so much more I wanted to know about Edward. He must have felt the same, because he asked if we could find somewhere to continue the conversation. I blushed, wondering if I should invite him back to my place. It was an odd feeling; I'd never considered inviting a man I knew - let alone a stranger - to my apartment.

All of a sudden, Edward looked worried. I asked what was wrong, and he told me that his sister was supposed to be there -- he had been on his way to meet her when he bumped into me. When I realized that his sister was the black-haired waitress, I was able to put his mind at ease. As I was telling Edward about seeing her leaving, it occurred to me that - from the first moment I saw Edward - it felt almost as if Jasper had never existed.

And the watchers were content.


End file.
